


Delicious Sight

by Tsundere_Icecream



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 21:46:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14554203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsundere_Icecream/pseuds/Tsundere_Icecream
Summary: Work Text:





	Delicious Sight

“Mmm. Delicious.”

“Hmm...? ” Sherlock turns from where he's been facing the window playing his violin. His nose crinkles in confusion at where John is sitting in his chair watching him. "That isn't a proper word to describe this tune, John."

"I wasn't talking about your playing." John smirks.

 

John scrubs the pan in the sink a little harder. “Jesus Christ, Sherlock, what is burnt to the bottom of this pan. Food only in the stainless steel one, remember. Fuck!” He squirts in another bit of soap, and doubles down on the scrubbing.

“Mmm, yes. But, come here.”

“Kind of busy.”

John jumps at the sensation of large warm hands settling on his hips. He sighs and lets the pan slip beneath the surface of the soapy water. Sherlock’s thumbs are tracing half moons over his lower back. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You wanted me to go over there for nothing? You came all the way over here to me, for no—ahh….”

Sherlock’s lips graze the side of his neck. “Well…” murmured deep and low just behind John’s ear. “Maybe not ‘nothing’ exactly.”

John let’s his head fall back against Sherlock’s chest with a hum of pleasure as Sherlock cranes down to suck hard just below the hinge of John’s jaw. He moans, melts, lets himself get lost in feeling of Sherlock’s lips ghosting over his cheek, temple. Sherlock reaches down and tilts John’s chin in his direction, dips down to…

“What’s on the frying pan?”

Sherlock freezes.

John grins. “I’m not stupid you know. You always do this when you’ve done something shouldn’t have.”

Sherlock steps away, and John spins around. “Hey, I didn’t say run off.” He hoists himself up on the counter, holds out a hand, and Sherlock steps into the V of his legs without hesitation.

He’s pouting, pouting very prettily, and John chuckles. “Maybe I like you bad sometimes, hmm…” He cards his fingers through Sherlock’s hair and delights in the way his eyes slide shut and his body leans into John’s even more. “I love you.”

Sherlock buries his face in John’s chest. “I love you, too.”

“Mmm…” John buries his face in Sherlock’s hair and gives the top of his head a kiss. “Good. Now clean the pan, or go down the street and get us a new one.”

Sherlock looks up and lets out a deep, long-suffering sigh, eyes rolling toward the ceiling, but he pulls away and strides across the room to scoop up his coat off the back of one of the kitchen chairs, just the same. “I’m just going to to buy a new one. Put that one in the chemistry drawer.”

“Good plan. Oh, and Sherlock…”

Sherlock turns around in the doorway to the hall as he shrugs into his coat.

“Buy lube. We’re almost out. And hurry back.”

Sherlock’s eyes widen, and the corner of his mouth quirks up, before he lifts a hand to his forehead in salute and winks. “Yes, Sir.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

> Work Text:

 

_HOT. HEAVY._

Those were John Watson’s first thoughts when he began to gain awareness after his deep sleep. He breathed in heavily through his nose; the smell of cinnamon, chemicals, and something utterly  _Sherlock_ hit his consciousness and the previous evening’s events flash into his immediate thoughts.

_OH._

The heaviness moves at John’s risen chest, snuffling and tickling his chin, a pressure squeezing his rib cage tighter in protest of John even daring to move. The weight settles again and hums contentedly, a rumble into John’s ribcage.

John smiles widely, turning his nose down into Sherlock’s hair, and inhales.

The smell is so heady to John; he fears he is dreaming, at least until he brings his arms around the man cuddled against his chest. John’s arms grip tightly around Sherlock’s back, pulling the Sherlock-shaped limpet up closer to his own face. Said limpet finds this an agreeable idea, and makes the effort to shuffle up, positioning himself so that his whole body is lying right on top of John, wrapping his own arms under John’s shoulders. Sherlock buries his face in the crease of John’s neck and damaged shoulder, and proceeds to nuzzle it with his nose. Sherlock’s morning stubble is rubbing pleasantly against his own.

“Mmm, good morning, Love,” John mumbles as he returns the nuzzle. He feels Sherlock smile, squeezing tighter, curling his toes against John’s calf.

“Pet names already, John?” Sherlock speaks softly to John’s earlobe, a lilt of mirth tainting his voice. “We’ve only just started sharing a bed together.”

“Oh shush, you idiot,” chuckles John, fondness oozing from his lips. “You love it.” John brings up one of his hands to pet at Sherlock’s curls; the grunt of pleasure Sherlock emits sends a shiver down John’s spine. “Adore it, even. Would have never taken you for a cuddler, though. Thought you hated all this sentiment stuff.”

Sherlock lifts his head up and presses his cheek into John’s. “This is  _different,_ John.”

John cracks open his eyes as he chuckles, “Oh? How so?”

“It’s  _YOU_ , John. It’s impossible for me to hate anything that has to do with you.” Sherlock’s face goes very serious as he stares right into John’s eyes.

John giggles. “You hate my jumpers.”

Sherlock’s face goes terribly soft and starts to blush. He pushes his face back into John’s neck, and mutters, “Not really, no.”

John chuckles. He pushes his head into Sherlock’s. “And my blog.”

Sherlock squeezes John tighter still. “No.”

John’s smiling wide, strokes one of his hands down Sherlock’s shoulder blade.  “Knew it.”

“Is-sow-i-owe-oo-uv-eee,” Sherlock tells John’s cranium.

“What’s that, Love?”

“The blog. Your romanticism. It’s how I know you loved me,” Sherlock whispers to the pillow. “In some capacity,” he adds after a second. Sherlock kisses John’s shoulder scar.

John sucks in a breath, brushes his lips against Sherlock’s ear. “Was it that obvious?”

Sherlock shakes his head minutely. “Not really. Though in hindsight it is fairly obvious.” Sherlock lifts his head again. “I guess I just didn’t want to hope too much.” Their foreheads touch. “I’ve loved you for too long, John. I couldn’t bear it if I was wrong about this one thing, so I just never let myself hope too much.”

John returns a hand to Sherlock’s scalp, and brushes his lips against Sherlock’s. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

Sherlock smiles, and presses his lips into John’s. “Worth it.” They share a tender kiss, then another. Lazy pecks to greet each other on this new day, the first day of the rest of their lives.

Later, they will share a shower together, lazily drawing soapy patterns on each other’s backs. They will share a few of Mrs Hudson’s scones for breakfast, John feeding Sherlock as they snuggle close on the couch. They will share a tea, because Sherlock just likes John’s better. And later still they will share kisses and moans as they make love in Sherlock’s bed, after Sherlock decides that he just isn’t close enough to John sitting practically in his lap, and John will tell Sherlock how beautiful he is. Sherlock will tell John he’s an idiot, but he’s  _HIS_  idiot, and that no one else can have him.

Later still, Sherlock will ask if he can keep John forever: John will say yes. They will share the rest of their lives together.

But right now, John is content petting Sherlock’s hair, as Sherlock dozes off again, sharing this moment together.

 

 


End file.
